No One's Gonna Tell You It's Not Worth It
by Copycat
Summary: Sex, angst, Nikki, Harry. It's all a depressing mess. Rated for semi- graphic sexual content.


TITLE: No One's Gonna Tell You It's Not Worth It  
AUTHOR: Lizzy (Copycat)  
RATING: M  
CLASSIFICATION: Nikki/Harry, Angst, Distorted romance  
SPOILERS: Just your day, maybe, if you were having a good one.  
SUMMARY: Sex, angst, Nikki, Harry. It's all a depressing mess. Rated for (semi-)graphic sexual content.  
DISCLAIMER: The BBC owns everything you recognise. And probably some things you don't.

This fic is a lot longer than it seems, because about half of it is written between the lines. Now that you know that, go ahead and read. See if it makes sense to you.

(Title is from the song "As You Fall (I Watch With Love)" by David & The Citizens. I'd post the lyrics, but I hate it when other people do that, and it works better if you listen to it, anyway. Which you should do, because it's a brilliant song.)

* * *

"Do you want to come in for coffee?"

The words hang in the cabin of the taxi for what seems like an eternity as Harry struggles to grasp the many layers of meaning attached to the seemingly simple sentence, and tries to think of an appropriate response.

"No, of course not," Nikki answers her own question dismissively, interpreting his hesitancy as a refusal. "Right. I'll see you at work," she tells the car seat as she hurries out of the taxi and then slams the door shut, making a quick escape.

Harry leans back in his seat and sighs, rubbing his eyes roughly with the heels of his hands. Whatever the right answer was, saying nothing definitely wasn't it....

The black car makes it around the corner before he tells the cabbie to stop. When Harry pays the fare the driver nods in approval.

Harry shakes his head, he isn't sure yet that he approves himself. "Goodnight."

He jogs to catch up with her before she makes it through the gate. She looks frightened when she turns around, her hand on the gate ready to push it open so she can get to safety behind it quickly. When she recognises him she relaxes somewhat, but she still looks wary, clearly unsure of what he's doing there.

"I think I could use a cup of coffee, after all," he tells her, smiling to hide how nervous he feels and not sure he's managing it very well.

She hesitates, and he wonders if she has changed her mind in the time it took for him to come to his senses, but then she smiles back and nods, holding the gate open for him.

They walk across the courtyard in a silence that isn't exactly comfortable, but which none of them seems willing to break by speaking.

She glances briefly at him as she digs her keys out of her handbag. He wishes she would have looked at him longer and given him a better chance to decipher the emotions shining from her eyes. All he catches is a peculiar mix of worry and determination before her face is turned to the door again.

She walks in ahead of him without a word and while he is slowly taking off his coat she disappears to the kitchen.

He waits in the living room for her to come back, until the smells from the other room tell him that she is actually making coffee.

He has misunderstood her, and she really _did_ mean "come in for coffee." He sighs, mentally cursing himself for imagining that she could've meant anything else, and for letting himself be disappointed by reality, as he walks to the kitchen to help her. He tries to remember how many taxis there are in London, in order to calculate the odds of the same driver picking him up in an hour to bring him home. He would rather walk than face that sort of humiliation.

She has her back to him and she is leaning against the counter, her hands resting on its surface. When she hears him coming she turns around slowly and looks at him, her eyes meeting his properly for the first time since she invited him in.

He hasn't misunderstood anything. She is just biding her time with the coffee. Her gaze travels down his body and then back up again, and he feels like he is being measured, although he's not entirely sure what for.

"Sugar?" she asks him at last, although they both know that she knows he takes his coffee black.

"No, thanks," he answers, going along with it. She has been playing a new game lately, and he isn't sure he understands the rules yet, so it feels safer to just follow her lead.

He is starting to suspect that the rules are changing, anyway, so there's no point even trying to work it all out.

The only problem is that now that they're here at last, in the place he can finally see that they've been heading towards all day, she seems determined to _not_ be in charge and he isn't sure this is something he will be able to take control of very well, because he still doesn't know what she's doing, or why.

Her eyes are suddenly pleading with him, but he has no idea what she wants, so he takes a step forward, reaching out a hand to caress her cheek.

She leans into his touch, the corner of her mouth twitching, her eyes never leaving his. Clearly she is expecting _him_ to do something.

His eyebrows shoot up in question as he leans closer, still unsure of what she really wants from him.

She shakes her head slightly, her tongue darting out to lick her lips.

"I--" he says, uncertain, but then she tilts her head upwards, not meeting him halfway, exactly, but giving him easier access to her half-parted lips.

Her eyes are still boring into his when his mouth lands on hers and he goes slightly cross-eyed, trying to look back at her. It hurts and he closes his eyes, losing himself in the sensation of her lips moving against his. Her mouth is open, inviting him to deepen the kiss.

When he does, it is like an explosion of energy coming off her in waves as her body shifts closer to him and then away, back and forth, her hands hovering a few centimetres from his chest.

He wonders if she's afraid to touch him, and what she thinks will happen if she does. What does she think will happen if she doesn't?

He pulls away, his hand still cupping her cheek, and he can feel her moving with him, reluctant to let him end the kiss but not doing anything else to stop him.

He plants a brief kiss on her lips, smiling down at her. She looks back at him, almost smiling, too. Her eyes are no longer pleading with him, instead she is studying him carefully, as if _she_ is trying to understand _him_ and not the other way around.

He feels like what he wants should be obvious to her. Like it always has been.

But he knows that isn't true, of course, it's only that right now he can't remember ever having wanted anything else.

There is a moment when he thinks she might have changed her mind, and she's about to tell him to leave, because she takes a step back, out of reach. But then her lips curl up in a teasing smile, and there is something like a challenge in her eyes as she looks straight at him for a second, before slowly pulling her top over her head and dropping it on the floor.

It seems to fall in slow-motion and he stares at it, transfixed, oblivious at first to the fact that she is undressing right in front of him.

He looks up at her, finally, his eyes travelling slowly from the ground and up her body to her face. She is watching him watching her, the teasing smile still lingering, but gradually giving way to something else. Something that he can't define.

She knows exactly what he wants.

But at least now they are even, because there can no longer be any doubt that she wants the same thing.

She is waiting for him to do something again, but he would feel stupid standing in her kitchen taking off his clothes while she just looks at him, so instead he steps closer to her, reaching out a hand to touch her naked shoulder.

Her skin is soft and warm, and she shivers as his cool fingers travel along her collarbone from one shoulder to the other.

He sees her hands twitching and her eyes shifting to the buttons of his shirt before coming back to his face, but she doesn't move.

He traces another circle on her shoulder and then succumbs to her unspoken request and unbuttons his shirt for her.

She frowns and he wonders if he misunderstood, but then she shakes her head slightly and smiles at him.

He leans down and kisses her again. She wraps her arms around his neck as she kisses him back eagerly, and he pulls her closer, until her cooling skin is pressed against him. Her lacy bra feels scratchy and unnatural against his chest in contrast with her softness.

His hands roam up and down her back, hesitating a few times by the bra strap, and finally he unhooks it. She shifts obligingly, their lips still fused together, to let him pull it off her.

He has thought about this moment so many times, probably more than he should, but he never imagined it would be like this. Not really. This is too simple, and things were never simple for them. He wonders for a moment if this is a fantasy and if he is going to wake up in a minute, disappointed again, but then he feels her breath, warm and fast into his mouth, and he knows he could never have imagined anything like this.

He moans as she rubs herself against him and he feels her lips curl up in a gloating smile against his mouth. He bites her bottom lip gently, tugging on it to wipe the smile off her face.

She pulls herself free, still grinning, and takes his hand. He follows wordlessly as she leads him into her bedroom.

She lets go of his hand and turns around to look at him. They stand there, half-naked and aroused, without moving, as he fights the impulse to tear off all their clothes and just throw her on the bed. The look in her eye seems like an invitation to do it, but he shakes his head and steps closer to her, reaching out to cup her face in both hands and kissing her gently.

She pulls away after a moment, looking angry at first, but when their eyes meet, the pleading look from earlier returns. "Please don't," she whispers, shaking her head.

"Don't what?" he asks, confused again by her mixed signals. He turns his head to look at the door, silently asking her if she wants him to leave, willing her to mean something else, because walking away now would probably be the hardest thing he has ever had to do.

When he turns back to her she is shaking her head desperately against his hands. He kisses her reassuringly, to let her know he isn't going anywhere unless she tells him to. Somehow he is unable to feel relieved that she wants him to stay after all, because he isn't sure that's actually what she wants. She just wants him to leave even less than she wants him to stay.

She shifts and he pulls away to see her unbuttoning her jeans and pushing them down her hips. She sits down on the edge of the bed and bends down to push her jeans off completely, taking off her socks at the same time. Then she sits back up, leaning back on her arms with her hands resting on the bed behind her, and watches him expectantly, now wearing only a pair of green panties.

He lets out a slow breath, feeling a little uncomfortable with her watching him like that, as if they're following a script and he hasn't had a chance to read it. It seems safe to assume that she's waiting for him to undress, however, so he does.

She smirks at the obvious proof of his arousal as he pushes off his boxers and steps out of them, and then she scoots back on the bed, inviting him to join her.

He moves slowly, kissing his way up her legs, revelling in the way her breathing becomes more erratic as his lips travel up one of her thighs. She shifts her leg, trying to show him the path she wants him to take and he grins, kissing the inside of her thigh one last time before crawling up her body to kiss her lips.

"Tease," she complains with mock disapproval.

"Greedy," he replies, kissing his way along her jawline.

Her hands travel down his chest, her nails scraping against his abdomen as she changes direction at the last minute to work her way up his back until his arms, supporting his weight as he looms over her, get in her way.

She moves around them, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. Her head is raised from the pillow to meet him halfway, but then she pulls him down with her. Her kiss is hungry, almost desperate, and she is forcing him down until he's worried that he's crushing her, but when he tries to move away, her hands on his lower back hold him down.

She bites down on his lip so hard he's amazed he doesn't taste blood, and he pulls his head up slightly. "Sorry," she mumbles, her tongue licking his lips slowly to make up for it.

"It's fine," he assures her, forgetting all about the pain that's already gone when her hands on his buttocks pull him closer to her. Too close, he realises, as his body responds to her proximity, in spite of the fact that she isn't even completely naked yet. Resting on one elbow he reaches for her hands one at a time, intertwining their fingers above her head and pulling his hips back slightly.

"I--" he mumbles, and her eyes shift downwards, and although she can't see beyond where they're fused together at the chest, he knows her mind's eye is looking further down their bodies than that. She smiles knowingly, pleased by the effect she's having on him, her tongue darting out to tease him again, tracing the contours of his lips.

"Thank you," she whispers, raising her head to kiss him.

"For what?" he asks, wondering if he will ever learn to understand her.

"For wanting me."

He laughs at that. At the ridiculous notion that he could ever _not_ want her. But her eyes are sincere and he kisses her back, letting go of her hands to stroke her hair. He wants to tell her that he will always want her, and that he always did, but somehow he knows it's the wrong thing to say right now, so he doesn't.

She reaches out and pulls open the drawer of the bedside table without looking at it and fumbles for the box of condoms, finally locating it and handing one to him.

As he sits up on his knees to put it on he tries very hard not to think about the fact that the box is nearly empty.

He looks down at her, lying back on the bed with her arms stretched to both sides, like an improved version of da Vinci's _Vitruvian Man_, and he wonders how they managed to get to this place. Why it took them so _long_ to get here.

He leans forward until he's standing on all fours and then bends down further to kiss her, slowly and softly. When she tries to deepen the kiss he pulls back slightly, only kissing her again when she relaxes. She smiles and shakes her head at him but doesn't object when he moves on to kiss her neck.

He works his way down her body with a slowness and precision that is almost scientific, familiarising himself with every part of her, cataloguing her response to every touch of his lips and hands. He is sure that when he's eighty he will still remember how her body twitches when he kisses her navel, and how she sighs softly when his hands dip from her hips to the inside of her thighs.

His lips travel down the taut skin of her stomach until they meet her panties and she pushes her hips up from the bed in anticipation of his next move even before he can hook his fingers through the panties to pull them off.

He looks up at her as he shifts to be able to pull the panties all the way off her, but her eyes are closed, her head tilted to one side as if she's sleeping, a look of contentment on her face.

His eyes still on her face he bends down and kisses his way further down the skin no longer covered by fabric.

Her hips thrust upwards in an involuntary motion and he smiles against her skin, changing direction so he is kissing his way up her stomach again and over her breasts towards her mouth.

He knows that her body wants him, but somehow he needs to hear her say it out loud. It feels like a power play and he hates himself for it, but that isn't enough to make him let it go.

He is balancing on his knees and hands, his body stretched over her, not touching anywhere other than where her thighs rest against his knees and lower thighs.

She looks up at him, and for just a second she seems confused, as if he is not who she expected to see, but then she reaches up a hand and runs a finger slowly from his forehead down his cheek to his chin, tracing the familiar contours of his face. He moves his head to trap her finger with his mouth, sucking on it, and she smiles. With her free hand she pulls his head down and kisses him hungrily, her tongue entering his mouth as she pulls out her finger.

He kisses her back eagerly, still keeping a careful distance between their bodies. When she tries to pull him down by wrapping her legs around him he resists the attempt by pulling up further.

"What's wrong?" she asks him, worry mingled with confusion in her voice, and he shakes his head.

"Nothing," he assures her, feeling stupid now for needing to know that she wants him as much as he wants her.

It won't make a difference, anyway.

"I just wanted to--" he trails off, trying to think of the least humiliating way to explain. "I wanted _you_ to--"

She silences him by kissing him firmly and then shushing him. "Please don't make this complicated," she pleads.

"I'm not," he insists, wondering what she thought he was going to say. "I just want to know that you want this."

She closes her eyes for a second, and when she opens them again they are hard and determined. She moves quickly, taking him by surprise when, instead of pulling him closer, she pushes him off her. If he had had time to react he would have moved away, but before he gets the chance she has flipped him over on the bed and is straddling him.

She takes his hands, gathering them above his head as she leans down. "I want this, Harry," she tells him firmly, looking straight into his eyes before kissing him. Bending down further she kisses his cheek and whispers into his ear, so softly he has to strain to hear the words in the soft flow of air. "I need this."

When she lets go of his hands he moves them to her hips and she nibbles his earlobe before running her tongue along his jawline and kissing him again. She sits up, her hands on his chest and her eyes on his, and then raises herself up, letting him guide her down around him.

Unable to stop himself, he thrusts his hips upwards, entering her as deeply as he can. She gasps and then smiles at him as he relaxes, clenching around him and making him do it again.

He grins, acknowledging the complete power she has over him now and not minding it at all as she begins to move slowly up and down.

He lets her set the pace, all his concentration on not disrupting her rhythm by setting one of his own, until his body is in tune with hers and they move together.

His hands travel up her body, already familiar to him, and he cups her breasts, teasing her nipples with his thumbs. She closes her eyes, smiling wantonly, and he watches her greedily, mesmerised by the look of pleasure on her face.

She moves faster and faster and he matches her every move until she is too close to climaxing and her movements become erratic. His hands return to her hips and he holds her in place, willing her to open her eyes before she comes, before all his concentration goes into letting her come before he does.

Just when he thinks he won't be able to hang on any longer, she arches her back and moans loudly, clenching and unclenching around him. The sound alone would have been enough to send him over the edge and he thrusts into her only twice more before surrendering.

As he empties himself inside her he sees that she is watching _him_ now, a look of wonder mixed with lazy satisfaction on her face as her breathing slowly returns to normal.

He pulls her down for a slow kiss, his heart still drumming loudly in his chest. He smiles against her lips when her tongue teases him playfully.

"I need to get rid of this," he tells her, waving a hand to where their bodies are still joined, the used condom inside her.

She nods, pulling off him slowly and rolling onto her back next to him. He turns to kiss her cheek briefly before getting out of bed and walking to the bathroom.

When he returns she is still lying on her back, and if she hadn't been _under_ the duvet now, rather than on it, he would think she hadn't moved at all. But somehow, with the simple act of covering herself up, she has changed the mood in the whole room. The euphoria he felt just moments before is quickly being replaced by a sense of dread.

She turns her head and looks at him as he walks to the bed, her face unreadable.

He crawls under the covers and shifts until he is lying on his side right next to her, snaking one arm around her waist and folding the other one under his head, kissing her shoulder softly.

He sees tears forming in the corner of her eye, and when they flow over and roll in a steady stream down her temple and into her messy hair, he can feel his heart breaking.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice breaking.

He wants to tell her to be quiet, or to say anything except that she regrets what has happened. He presses his lips to her shoulder again, letting them linger there while he still can.

"Why?" he asks her at last. He isn't sure if he's asking her why she's sorry, or why she let it happen at all, if she is only going to take it back.

She sniffs, blinking against the tears that won't stop. "For this," she explains in a voice that is barely above a whisper. "For making you...." She trails off, shaking her head slightly.

He makes a noise, halfway between a laugh and a sigh. "_Making_ me? What makes you think you _made_ me do _anything_?"

She turns her head to look at him, blinking more rapidly as the tears change their trail. He wants to wipe the tears away, but he knows that if he lets go of her, she will move away from him and he isn't ready to let her.

Her eyes look sadder than anything he has ever seen. "You're here," she says simply.

He nods his head against his arm. "Yes, I am," he agrees. "And I'm sorry if I gave you the impression that I was an unwilling participant, because that _really_ wasn't the case."

He can't tell if she sobs or laughs in response, but he thinks it might be both. "Please don't, Harry," she begs.

"Please don't what?"

"Don't turn this into a joke."

"I wasn't trying to," he tells her. "But honestly, I think you believing you somehow coerced me into having sex with you is a bit of a joke."

"But--" she protests, but he cuts her off.

"I don't think _you_ need to do a lot of convincing, generally, to get guys to do that." He knows it's cruel, and part of him regrets the words before they are even out of his mouth. But there is another part of him that is too angry to care just now, because she is ruining this moment with her tears and her regrets and her apologies.

That other part withers and dies, however, when she just looks at him sadly, as if the words don't anger her at all.

As if she feels she deserves them.

No one should be allowed to talk to her like that, and if anyone else had tried to, he would have been tempted to deck them.

"I just--" he begins, wanting to explain and apologise, but not knowing how to do either without breaking both their hearts by digging up things they would both be better off leaving alone.

She shrugs, her shoulder brushing against the stubble on his chin. "It's fine, Harry," she assures him, sniffling.

"No, it's not," he insists. "I love you," he tells her, when he can't think of any other way to comfort her. He's surprised by how easy it is to say the words.

"I know," she says, actual despair in her voice now. "That's why I'm so sorry. For ruining everything."

"Why are you so sure anything's ruined?" he argues. He doesn't want her to tell him she doesn't feel the same way.

"Because I used you, Harry," she says, tears flowing freely again. "You're my best friend and I used you because I was..." She trails off, shaking her head.

"Horny?" he suggests jokingly, unable to help himself.

She laughs through the tears and then turns serious again. "Lonely," she corrects him.

His arm tightens around her waist at the admission and she shuts her eyes firmly to stop a new flood of tears. "I don't mind," he tells her, although it's only partly true. He doesn't mind being used, but he does mind her feeling that that's what she's doing.

"You should," she says, still with her eyes closed. "But it didn't work, anyway."

He shifts so his head is propped up on his hand, his elbow next to her pillow, and looks down into her wet face. "What do you mean?"

Her eyes open and he's shocked by the deadened look in them. "I'm even more alone now than I was before," she whispers.

He sighs, bending down to kiss her cheek, tasting her salty tears. "Of course you're not."

"I will be," she insists.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promises, thinking that's what she's worried about.

"Yes, you are," she says stubbornly. "Because I want you to leave."

"Why?" he asks, too surprised to disguise the hurt he's feeling.

"Because I can't wake up tomorrow to you lying next to me. It would be too much like—I just can't, Harry. Please, just leave," she begs, turning her head away.

Even if he is still holding her, he can feel the distance growing between them as she withdraws into herself.

He lets go of her and she shifts away slightly, so that they are no longer touching. Gently but firmly he turns her head around, forcing her to look at him. "What's wrong, Nikki?"

"I'm sorry," she tells him but doesn't answer his question.

He was wrong earlier, thinking that walking away _then_ would be the hardest thing to do. Walking away _now_ is going to be even harder. But he has to do it, because he can't be the one to comfort her, when what's hurting her is that she's hurting him.

Not when it's true that she's doing it.

He gets out of bed and puts on his clothes. He takes his time, because the moment he leaves, this will be over and even if it's breaking his heart, he wants it to last for as long as possible.

And maybe, just maybe, she will change her mind.

He lingers in the kitchen, staring at her top and the two mugs of coffee. While he is meticulously buttoning his shirt he hears her in the living room and he walks there quickly.

She is leaning against the back of the sofa waiting for him, dressed in a robe, her eyes red but dry now. He opens his mouth to ask, spitefully, if this is how she always dismisses the men she brings home, but he can't get the words past his lips.

He can't be the one to hurt her even more than she's hurting herself, no matter how much she's hurting him.

Not right now.

He walks to the hallway and she follows him, watching silently as he puts on his shoes and coat.

Her eyes never leave him, and he wonders if she's as desperate to cling on to this moment as he is. But she doesn't need to be. All she has to do is ask him to stay and he will be with her forever.

His hand is on the doorknob, and he is turning the lock to open the door. At the last minute he turns around and reaches for her, pulling her into a hug, pressing her head to his chest, his instinct to comfort her stronger than his instinct for self-preservation. "Just let me help you, Nikki," he whispers, kissing the top of her head.

"You can't," she tells him, the words muffled by his chest.

"Won't you even let me try?"

"No," she says slowly, shaking her head against his hands. "I just want you to leave."

He lets go of her, resigned. "I love you," he tells her, wanting to make sure she understands that.

She reaches up on tip-toe and kisses his lips softly. "Goodbye," she tells him gently but insistently and there is nothing left for him to do but leave. He sighs softly and walks away.

The door closes behind him and she leans against it, sliding limply to the floor. "I love you, too, Harry," she whispers into the empty hallway, a single tear sliding down her cheek.

End


End file.
